Wouldn't It Be Nice
by StoryQuipster
Summary: She honestly doesn't know why she even feels bad about it.


**Wouldn't It Be Nice**

* * *

She honestly doesn't know why she even feels bad about it.

It's not as if she actually _knew_. And in her defense, he didn't seem any different today. Okay fine, so maybe he _did_ seem like he was a little out of it, with his pained half-smile and dull, muted eyes but she honestly didn't realize that anything was wrong. He was still Gray Surge, arms stiff from all the layers of clothes he was wearing, hair falling over his eyes in that ridiculous, dorky way, voice loud and bright as he yelled at her, "Juvia-chan!" So it's not as if he made it obvious (at least to her), that he was having a really crappy day.

And seriously, if she just _knew_, if somebody had just bothered to tell her beforehand, she wouldn't have stomped past him towards the request board and grabbed the first slip of paper she saw. She wouldn't have completely ignored him, even when he stumbled after her, in his usual pathetic way, imploringly saying, "Juvia-chan, we've never been on a mission together..."

She wouldn't have turned on him and raised one, indifferent eyebrow and viciously said through gritted teeth, "No, you can't come with me so don't even bother asking."

"But—''

"Goodbye Gray!" If she knew, she wouldn't have cut him off, turning on her heel and leaving, glancing only to look at him leaning against the door, his expression even more downcast than usual.

She winces as she remembers the way his eyelids sort of drooped even lower than usual and his chin trembled a little from below his mouth.

Looking back, what she did now seems a little harsh.

But she honestly wouldn't have done that if somebody had just bothered to fucking _tell her_ that today is the anniversary of his mother's death. Well, adopted mother, but _still_. Instead, everyone in the guild only stared at her with this judgmental, sort of disapproving look—and okay, fine, so that was a little weird because she's turned Gray down so many times in the harshest ways possible that everyone else should've been immune to it by now—and no one bothered to give her any sort of information as to why they thought she was being bitchier than usual.

Except for Natsu, who loudly commented while she was walking out, "Damn it Juvia, you could at least try to be nicer to him _today_!" but she responded by bopping him in the head and Lucy, in a fit of rage, punched her in the boob and told her to not hit her oh-so-precious-Natsu. That made her really mad (because seriously, you can't just punch other people's _boobs_) and they got into this really huge cat fight that lasted for thirty minutes and culminated with Lucy calling her a cold, heartless bitch.

_Anyways_.

She doesn't find out about _it_ up until she meets Lyon on her way back to the guild. Lyon's okay, she supposes and he's a bit older than her, maybe by a year or two. He's kind of cute with his frosty, white hair and his dark eyes and maybe she would've been interested in him if he didn't wear layers upon layers of clothes like Gray. He's as annoying as Gray too and even more persistent, so she tries to avoid him as much possible. She knows that he's Gray adopted brother because he mentioned something about it to her once (Shut up. She pays attention to him, okay?) and he's in another guild called Lamia Scale.

So anyways, she's about to walk past him like she always does, when she notices that he hasn't even looked up or called her name. His hands are shoved in his pocket and his head is ducked down low and his lips are creased into a little, doleful frown. She pauses in mid-step, becoming even more confused when he walks past her, almost as if he doesn't notice that she's there.

"Oi!" she calls out to him. He stops and turns to look at her, his face breaking out into a huge grin when he meets her eyes. He's got about five more layers of clothes on than normal and she suspects that it's because of the winter cold.

"Juvia-chan!" he happily says as he makes his way over towards her. He pauses when he catches sight of her tiny, black skirt and thin, navy blue sweater. "Aren't you cold in that? Do you need me to lend you a jacket? Because I have twelve more on me if you—''

"I'm fine," she breezily says as she shifts her weight on to her purple umbrella. She honestly doesn't feel all that cold and she's always had such amazingly good, body temperature regulation so she can get away with wearing nothing but a sweater and a skirt on winter days.

"Are you sure? I won't mind—''

"What's with the face?" she bluntly says. She's careful to make sure that she's kept the indifferent tone in her voice, like she isn't stopping by and asking him how he's feeling because she _cares_.

She doesn't.

Seriously.

She's just curious, that's all. Lyon always makes it a point to greet her and sidle up real close to her so for him to not do so, is just really strange and weird. That's all, okay? _She swears_.

"W-What?" Lyon says, completely flummoxed.

"Your face. You look like shit," she blandly says.

Lyon starts twisting his fingers together and the sad, despondent look is back in his eyes and for a second, Juvia feels guilty for bringing it up when he was obviously feeling happier just talking to her and offering up his (one million) sweaters and jackets. "O-Oh, well, it's nothing really, it's just that—''

"Forget I said anything. Never mind," she says, waving her hand. He obviously doesn't want to talk about it and it's not as if she's going to push him.

She's about to turn around and leave, when he says, "Wait! Juvia-chan!"

"What?" she impatiently says.

Lyon shoves his hands back into his pockets and says, "I just don't want you to think that I don't want your company. I do. I really, _really_ do. It's just that...today's been a really difficult day for me and Gray."

She suddenly remembers all the looks everyone in the guild had given her and Natsu's comment about being nicer to Gray and Lucy calling her a cold, heartless bitch.

"Why? What's up with today?" she warily asks, almost afraid to hear the answer.

He takes a deep breath, his face folding into a somber expression. "It's the anniversary of our adopted mother, Ur's death."

Well, shit.

She takes a step back and feels a small frission of regret and disappointment sweep over her. No wonder people looked at her weird at the guild today. Today's the very same day his mother died and he was probably feeling really crappy when she met him that morning and she had just gone and acted like a total bitch to him. And okay fine, she acts like a total bitch to him on regular days but today is different and if she knew, if somebody had just sat her down and fucking explained it to her before she entered the goddamn guild hall, then maybe she wouldn't have brushed him off so harshly.

Maybe she would've nicely (as nice as she can be anyways) told him that she could do this mission on her own and that she's independent and that she doesn't need him hovering over her or slowing her down. Or maybe she would've just sucked it up and let him come along.

A kind of iciness creeps up on her spine and something unpleasant starts moiling around in her chest.

"Juvia-chan?" Lyon says.

She turns around and mutters a quick goodbye to Lyon, her chest tight, her face burning despite the slamming cold. She desperately needs a drink, right now. She tries to tell herself that it doesn't matter because what's done is done and it's not as if she can go back in time and change the things she's said to him or the way she acted towards him. And it's not as if she knew anyway, so really, she shouldn't feel as bad as she does about it.

Oh god, what the fuck is she saying?

She feels like shit.

In fact, she hasn't felt as shitty as this since, well, since _ever_.

* * *

She's in the bar nursing her mug of warm, hot chocolate (laced with shots of tequila—what? She needs sustenance), trying but failing to make herself feel better. She originally planned on going straight up to Gray and apologizing to him or whatever about her absolutely inconsiderate behavior, but he had already left to go on a mission on his own. She's been sitting in the bar ever since, trying to deliberate on her next course of action.

She doesn't even know why she's thinking so hard about this. Yes, she had been incredibly rude to him when she shouldn't have been, but it's Gray Surge—he's so goddamn _nice_ that he'll probably forgive her, even if she doesn't apologize to him. And if he doesn't and he ends up hating her forever, then she shouldn't be so upset, because it's what she's always wanted right? She's always complaining about how annoying he is and how she just wants him to go away so him leaving her alone should make her happy.

But the thing is, she knows how it feels like to lose a parent (or parents, in her case) and she knows how crappy death anniversaries can be. It's like waking up and feeling as if you've lost the people you've loved all over again and the world seems as if its falling apart at the seams but everyone's laughing and acting normal because it's just another regular day for them. She knows how it feels like to feel the familiar stabbing of pain and despair whenever you think about your dead parents, even if it's already been years and years since they died.

And look, she isn't trying to think about all these depressing things to dredge up old wounds, okay? She's already made peace with her parents' death. Honestly, she has. The main point is that no matter how hard she tries to tell herself that she doesn't care about Gray and what he's going through, it still matters a lot to her, because the issues he's facing are hitting a little too close to home.

She knows how she can be sometimes but what she had done was definitely too much.

She sighs and takes another sip of her hot chocolate, trying to will away the uncomfortable feeling that's settling at the pit of her stomach.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

She turns to the left and rolls her eyes when she sees that it's just Lucy Ashley. She blandly says, "Oh. It's just you."

"Seriously. What's up with your face?" Lucy says as she gestures at Mira to get her a drink.

"It's nothing," Juvia mumbles. She and Lucy don't hate each other or anything—in fact, they're actually sort of friends. They're just not the kind of friends who talk about these kinds of things with each other.

"Are you sure? You seem kind of down," Lucy says, her brows wrinkling in concern.

"Well...it's nothing really but...I'm just wondering...when is he coming back from his mission?" she hesitantly mumbles as she looks down and traces the rim of her mug with her finger.

"Who?" Lucy asks, a smirk on her lips.

Juvia rolls her eyes. She says through gritted teeth, "You know who I'm talking about. _Gray_."

"Oh," Lucy says, her lips quirking into a small, amused smile. "He should be back in a few hours. You still haven't answered my question. Why do you seem upset?"

Lucy's looking at her with a pointed gaze and Juvia sighs because she knows that Lucy won't leave it alone until she answers the damned question. She takes a sip of her hot chocolate and tries to be as disaffected as possible when she says, "Oh, well, you know...I just wanted to apologize to him for being inconsiderate...especially since today is...you know..."

"Yeah, you were kind of a bitch to him today," Lucy bluntly says as she gives a small nod.

"I didn't know!" she hotly protests.

"Whatever," Lucy flippantly says. "Doesn't change the fact that you were still a bitch."

"Was he really that upset?" Juvia says in concern, in spite of herself.

"He was...a bit more bummed than usual when you rejected him. But you know him. I'm sure that he'll be fine by tomorrow," Lucy says.

"Well, good," Juvia stiffly says. She continues to sip her drink, trying to mull over what Lucy said. It should've made her feel better, but it didn't. She can't help but feel that obtaining his forgiveness isn't enough.

Lucy, who's been nursing a bottle rum and silently watching Juvia from the corner, suddenly narrows her eyes and curves her lips into a wicked smile. "Oh my god."

"What?" Juvia irritably snaps.

"_Oh my god_."

"_What_?"

There's an oddly triumphant look in Lucy's face that Juvia absolutely hates right now. "You actually care that he's upset. And you want to make him feel _better_."

"Shut up!" Juvia savagely retorts, feeling slightly embarrassed. Oh god, she has to nip this in the bud before Lucy starts thinking that she actually returns Gray's feelings or something.

"You do care!" Lucy insistently says. She leans forward and says, "Don't worry though. I'm sure he'll forgive you, as long as you apologize to him..."

Juvia can't tell if Lucy's being sincere or patronizing but she honestly doesn't care right now. Fuck what Lucy thinks. She can think anything she wants because the point is Juvia doesn't care about Gray, at least not in the same way he cares about her. She worries about him of course, from time to time, but that's just because he's her comrade and friend and that's what friends and comrades do—they worry about each other.

So whatever.

"Seriously. I'm not shitting around with you. If that's what you're worried about then, stop. The guy is so in love with you that he'd probably help you hide the body if you've committed murder," Lucy says. "So forgiving you for ragging on him on his mother's death anniversary shouldn't be hard."

"Yeah, maybe," Juvia sighs as she runs a finger along the countertop. Gray's going to forgive her, of course he will, she never doubted that for a second. Hell, he's probably already forgiven her without her asking him to. But the thing is, she wants to do more than ask for his forgiveness. She wants to make him feel better about today—make him forget about his mother's death, if only for a millisecond.

As if reading her thoughts, Lucy says, "You know, if you want to make him feel better, you should bring him something when you go to talk to him."

"Like what?" Juvia says, slightly interested.

"You could knit him up a sweater or cook him some warm, clam chowder!" Lucy suggests.

"Knit? Cook?" Juvia says, clumsily rolling the words against her tongue, almost as if they are completely foreign to her.

Lucy nods her head. "Oh yes, Gray loves homemade things."

"How do you know that?" Juvia demands, feeling a short spasm of _whatever_ pulse through her chest.

Lucy lifts her shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. "He hangs out with me and Natsu a lot so I know a couple of stuff about him"

She then gives Juvia a mischievous grin.

"Why does it matter, anyways?" Lucy slyly asks her.

"It doesn't!" Juvia quickly says. The last thing she needs is Lucy thinking that she's jealous that other girls know a lot more things about Gray than she does. _She isn't_. She's just confused because she figures that if anyone's going to be an expert on Gray, it should be _her_—he stalks her enough times for her to know enough things about him.

"Anyways, I'm sure that the moment you give him a homemade sweater or a cup full of chowder, he'll feel better about today instantly!" Lucy says.

"Homemade," Juvia repeats, not quite grasping the word.

Lucy shoots her a taunting look. "You do know how to cook or knit right?"

She smirks and twirls the rum bottle in her hands. "It's pretty easy. Even _I_ could do it."

"Of course I can," Juvia defensively says. "But...but why would I waste my time doing all of that, when I can just buy a sweater from the nearest store? Or order clam chowder from Mira?"

"Because it won't be as sincere. And you at least owe it to Gray to _try_," Lucy says as she gives Juvia a significant look.

Lucy does have a point.

"Unless you're actually incapable of cooking or knitting," she adds, her lips quirked into a taunting smile.

Juvia glares at her, absolutely offended that Lucy insinuated that she can't cook or knit or make goddamn homemade stuff. Alright, fine. So she's never cooked or knitted before, but it seems easy enough to do. Lucy's god-awful at a bunch of other ridiculously difficult things that Juvia can do better so surely she can do something as simple as knitting up a sweater or cooking chowder. And there's no way in hell she's going to lose to anyone like Lucy Ashley.

Seriously.

It can't possibly be that difficult, right?

Juvia nods her head and with a defiant lift of her chin, she says, "Of course I can do that. In fact, I will."

* * *

She decides to try making the sweater thing first because the lady in that knitting store made it seem so easy.

And also, she has an irrational fear of stoves and fire.

(Don't fucking judge her—she's had very bad run-ins with saucepans, okay?)

She's picked out this yarn that's kind of thick and chunky, so she knows that he'll be all snug and warm when he's wearing it. The color of the yarn is this amazing, dark, inky blue color that she just knows will complement his dark, grey eyes (not that she spends time thinking about the color of his eyes) and make it really stand out. All in all, she's pretty proud of her purchase and she figures that if she works really fast, she'll have it done by the end of the day.

She quickly opens up the instruction manual that knitting store lady gave her and reads the first instruction.

1.) Check the gauge.

Check the gauge? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Juvia quickly runs her hands over the materials she's bought, trying to remember their names. She's sure the knitting store lady mentioned something about a gauge but she can't, for the life of her, remember which one of the stupid implements it's supposed to be. And what the hell is wrong with the goddamn instruction manual? There are no pictures or proper explanations to the instructions. How the hell is she supposed to know what checking the gauge means? She's never knitted a thing in her life.

She suddenly feels a spasm of irritation. She specifically told that lady that she wanted a _beginner's_ instruction manual. She swears, once she gets this whole sweater thing sorted out she's going to sue. Or she's going to call up Gajeel and have him write an expose on their absolutely horrendous service.

She looks at all the needles and yarns and measuring tapes she's bought and a stab of frustration creeps over her when she realizes that she has no idea what she's doing. _No idea._ And oh god, she doesn't even know Gray's sizes (how can she when he's wearing so many fucking layers?). A small voice in her head is telling her that she can't do this and that she needs to swallow up her pride and admit to Lucy that she needs help and that she can't knit a fucking sweater with nothing but a picture-less instruction manual.

As soon as the thought crosses her mind, she immediately shudders in repulsion. No. She can't do that. She's got too much self-respect to ask Lucy Ashley for help. She can always ask Lisanna or Mira or Cana (oh god, Cana's like, the master of knitting) but she doesn't want them knowing that she's making it for Gray. Lucy knowing is bad enough at it is—she doesn't want everybody else getting the wrong idea and thinking that she's going soft.

She suddenly feels a small frission of determination. She has to do this. She's going to make Gray feel better and she's going to do it by knitting him an amazingly fantastic sweater. The best sweater he will ever have the privilege of wearing. It's just knitting, right?

Feeling revitalized, she quickly charts a game plan in her head. She's going to drink a glass of wine, sit down, read the instruction manual and knit Gray up a sweater. She stands up, makes her way to the kitchen and sloshes some wine into a glass before taking several gulps and making her way back to the living room. Then, she flops down on the floor and reads the instruction manual.

1.) Check the gauge.

She takes a deep breath and tries to steel herself. She can do this. She can knit a fucking sweater. She has a brain. She can figure out what a fucking gauge is. She can work it out.

An hour later, there are several tiny scars at the tips of her fingers from where she's accidentally stabbed herself with the needles and instead of a sweater, all she has is this weird, lumpy blue mass of yarn and cloth. She cards fingers through hair, re-reading the instruction to make sure that she's got it right.

17.) By now you should have finished a sleeve.

What sleeve? She doesn't see any goddamned sleeved. Why didn't it work? She followed the stupid manual and everything. She suddenly feels a pent-up rage rising from within her—rage at herself, at the stupid, sleeveless, collarless lump she's knitted, at the person who wrote the instruction manual, making sweater-knitting seem so _easy_.

"It's not!" Juvia yells, in outrage. "_It's not_!"

She flings the instruction manual against the wall and flops back against the floor.

Who needs sweaters anyways? Gray certainly doesn't. He's got enough sweaters and jackets and shirts to last him three lifetimes. It won't matter if she knits him one or not because he probably won't need it anyway.

What he needs is a nice, warm cup of clam chowder. And okay, maybe she's afraid of the stove and things frying and oil splashing everywhere from when it gets too hot. But she's sure that she can handle doing that for a few hours. And besides, she's making clam chowder, which is basically soup so all she has to do is dump everything in the pot and let it boil. It's not chemistry. Even she should be able to do it.

She stands up, already feeling better. She smoothens her skirt and rolls her shoulders before grabbing her purse and making her way towards the door.

When she passes by the shapeless, inky-blue sweater she had attempted to knit, she feels a small burst of disappointment.

It's such a shame though.

The color of the yarn she picked would've really brought out the color of his eyes.

(Not that it matters.)

* * *

Three hours and seven glasses of wine later, she's still cooking.

At least that's what she thinks she's doing. The stove is roaring with heat and the pot is bubbling. She's burned both of her hands trying to move the goddamned pot whenever she felt that the heat wasn't good enough and she's taken out seven different recipe books, all of which have been drenched in oil, flour or cream. Her face is unbearably hot and red and she's sweating hard, her hands trembling from exhaustion.

This is her third attempt and she still hasn't produced anything edible. So far, she's burned an entire pot full of onions and carrots, discarded a watery mixture of flour and cream and scraped off a saucepan of congealed cubed pork. She's been trying to work out what she's doing wrong but she can't seem to figure it out. She followed everything in the goddamned cookbook, down to the—

Her eyes widen in horror as the pot starts bubbling over. Panicking, she quickly uncovers it, hissing in pain when a bit of the soup sprays against her hand. She hurries over to the sink and runs her hand over cold water (for the millionth time) while simultaneously grabbing a spoon and stirring the mixture in the pot. Her lips curl up into a frown when she realizes that instead of being thick and creamy, her chowder looks like revolting, lumpy, brown water. Frantically, she starts searching at the ingredients splayed across the countertop.

When her eyes catch sight at the carton of whipping cream, she quickly grabs it and dunks its remaining contents into the steaming pot. She grabs the flour and cornstarch too and starts flinging them into the pot, beads of sweat running across the sides of her face. The mixture bubbles over even more and she grabs the lid and clamps it on the pot with trembling fingers.

Wine.

She needs more wine.

She grabs what's left of her wine and without pouring it into a glass, she takes several big, clumsy gulps. Then, she grabs the nearest recipe book and runs a finger down the page.

7.) The consistency of the chowder should be thick but creamy and smooth.

She nods her head in slight satisfaction. She's sure that she's on the right track because even though her chowder seemed a bit lumpy, surely she managed to fix it by adding the cream. She takes the lid off the pot and peers over it. Smoke escapes from the pot and starts filling the whole room. She is suddenly gripped in dismay when she sees that her chowder has formed into a solid, stiff lump. She tentatively pokes at it with a spoon.

It has to be right. It has to be. She feverishly starts stabbing at the lump, trying to get it to somehow liquefy. Maybe if she pours it out of the pot, it will turn watery, by some amazing law of culinary physics. Forgetting to put on mitts, she grabs at the pot's handles only to spring backwards, scalded.

Fuck.

"Fuck chowders!" she viciously yells as she stomps over towards the mitts and angrily slaps them over her hands. She's just about to pour the stupid-as-fuck chowder into a bowl when she hears the door of her apartment open and a familiar deep, smooth voice yelling, "Hello!? Juvia, you there?"

"_What_!?" she explodes as she turns around to face whoever's entering her kitchen.

Gajeel enters into the kitchen, looking absolutely poleaxed as he surveys the mess. "What the hell happened in here?"

* * *

Gajeel's looking at her half in horror and half in amusement and she just feels pissed because she doesn't really have the time to listen to whatever smartass comment he's about to make. She wants to be snarky and send him away but she knows that, that would just be rude because it's not as if he just barged into her apartment without any warning. It's a Friday night and she and Gajeel usually go out somewhere to get a drink and catch up. She would've sent him a message or something so that she could call it off, but she honestly didn't think that making a bowl of clam chowder was going to take her three fucking hours.

Gajeel's her oldest friend—she's known him longer than she's known anyone else actually. They met back when she was still in Phantom Lord and he had written an expose on how corrupt and shady some of Phantom Lord's practices were. Master Jose sent her over to "fix the situation" and she had gone and tracked him down with the full intent of beating the living crap out of him so he could retract his previous statements. But then, she found him in this swanky bar playing the piano and they talked and had a few drinks and she ended up deciding that he really wasn't all that bad. They ended up getting along so well that Juvia decided not to do anything to him and she went back to the guild with a stupid excuse about how Gajeel was hiding and that it didn't matter because nobody read his writings anyways. She's been trying to get him to join Fairy Tail for years now although he's always said that he prefers working as a freelancer because it gives him more breathing room.

She always makes fun of the stuff he's written, although she's not too mad at the Phantom Lord article. Even though she will never admit it to anyone, she kind of agrees with the shit that he wrote.

Phantom Lord...well, it's not a nice guild. She knows that and she's glad that she's left that part of her life right now. She's done a couple (okay, a lot) of things she's not proud of and she's hurt a lot of people in the past, but she's really trying hard to step away from that and start all over. Yes, she's still kind of a bitch but at least she's trying.

"Is everything okay?" Gajeel asks her. He's wearing that pristine, fancy black suit of his and he's got a briefcase in his hand. Juvia always feel underdressed around him because he always looks so respectable.

Juvia juts her chin out and empties the sticky, hard lump into a bowl. "Of course. I'm just...I'm just trying to cook."

"You're trying to cook? You? _Cooking_?" Gajeel says and she scowls in annoyance because she can tell that he's making fun of her. She knows that her previous experiences with cooking haven't been very successful but he doesn't have to be such an asshole about it.

"Yes!" Juvia snaps as she lugs the pot back into the stove. She turns the heat on and dumps some clam juice into the pot. Obviously, she can't give Gray chowder that isn't well, chowder. She's going to have to start from scratch and do everything all over again.

"What are you doing now?" Gajeel says as he raises a brow.

Juvia grabs another spoon and starts stirring the clam juice, saying, "I'm just in the process of the most complex stage—_fuck_!"

Smoke starts rising from the pot, wafting all the way to her smoke detector. A ringing sound starts ripping through her apartment and before she can do anything else, her sprinkler turns on, spraying water everywhere.

"What complex stage is this again?" Gajeel asks her, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Shut up," Juvia savagely says, trying to maintain what's left of her dignity. She's soaked and tired and all she really wants to do is to curl up in her bed and sleep.

"What is that supposed to be?" Gajeel says, poking the lumpy chowder in the bowl.

"Chowder," Juvia miserably says.

He grabs a spoon and tentatively scoops a chunk out of the lump and shoves it in his mouth. Juvia watches him chew on it for a few minutes and she blanches when he starts making choking sounds.

"Well? How does it taste like?" Juvia says, trying as hard as she can to sound as if she doesn't care.

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"It tastes liked congealed pain," Gajeel bluntly says.

Juvia buries her head in her hands and moans, "This is so unfair! I followed the instructions! What the fuck did I do wrong? And why isn't the goddamn sprinkler turning off?"

"Because that's what sprinklers do. They sprinkle water," Gajeel wryly says.

"Ugh!" she says, trying to push the wet strands of hair away from her forehead. She collapses on the floor, her shoulders feeling heavy and stiff.

Gajeel sits down on the floor from across her and gives her an intent look. "Why were you even trying to cook in the first place?"

Juvia folds her arms and snaps, "Can't a girl just want to cook something for herself?"

"Cut the crap, Juvia. You're the most undomestic person I know. There's no way in hell you would attempt to cook for yourself. Not after that incident with—''

"Don't remind me," she hisses in annoyance. Honestly, he's never going to let that go.

"Seriously. Why do you suddenly have the urge to cook...clam chowder?" Gajeel asks, looking slightly concerned.

Juvia sighs and briefly debates if she should tell him or not.

"Juvia...come on," Gajeel says and Juvia sighs and looks at him because fuck. Gajeel's her oldest friend, her best friend, and even though she thinks he's a nosy ass for like ninety-nine percent of the time, she still thinks that he deserves the respect of her actually telling him stuff and not just writing him off.

"It's about...Gray," Juvia finally says.

"Who? Sweaterball?" Gajeel says, giving a tiny, mocking smirk. She frowns a little at the way he's said their little nickname for Gray—it shouldn't bother her because she also talks about Gray like that all the time. But for some reason it _does_ bother her because she feels like it's kind of mean to make fun of Gray just because he wears so many sweaters. It's not his fault that he gets cold easily

(And fine, she knows that she sounds a bit hypocritical, but she doesn't count, okay?)

"Yeah."

"What about him?"

"Well, you see...I turned him down again today—''

"And that bothers you...why? You turn him down _every day_."

"I know!" Juvia impatiently says, annoyed at being interrupted. "But...today is the anniversary of when his mom died."

"Oh."

"Yeah. And I just feel really bad about it and then Lucy started saying something about how Gray loves homemade stuff and you know, I thought that if Lucy could do it, then I could too and..._oh, god_. I don't know what I was thinking,"

"Okay, I get that you're trying to make amends for treating him badly on a day that brings back terrible memories for him. But what I don't get is why you had to go through all this trouble...to make him something homemade...when you could've just gone to the nearest store, bought some chowder and you know, _lied_ that you made it yourself?" Gajeel says.

"Because then, my gesture wouldn't be as sincere," Juvia responds.

"But he's not going to know that. Or he's not going to care. He'll probably just be happy if you go and talk to him. Seriously. Why does this matter so much to you?" Gajeel says. She sighs and cards her fingers through her hair. This is honestly one of the things she hates when she's talking to Gajeel. He always asks the hard questions.

"Because...you know...I just...I don't have to explain anything to you!" Juvia says, completely flustered.

"I can't believe this! You...Juvia Lockser... are getting yourself all worked up...over a guy. And _Sweaterball_ of all people!"

"Shut up, Gajeel," Juvia irately says.

Gajeel gives her this smarmy little look, as if he knows something about her that she doesn't or that he's figured out some sort of secret she's been trying really hard to hide. He tells her, "You really care about him, don't you?"

"I'm not as cold and as unfeeling as everybody says I am," Juvia waspishly responds. She honestly isn't even though she likes to put up a good show that she is. She's used to people calling her that anyways and even though it kind of hurts sometimes, it doesn't really bother her anymore.

"That's not what I meant," Gajeel insistently says.

Juvia looks away and pretends to be absorbed at something on the window. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You do. I think Sweaterball gets under your skin more than you let on," Gajeel tells her.

"Fuck off." He's still laughing and smiling that know-it-all smile of his. She rolls her eyes and thinks that she should be more of a bitch. She shouldn't have let him talk her into having this conversation.

Gajeel leans forward and flicks a slice of onion away from her hair. He quietly says, "You know, you wouldn't have gotten yourself into this much trouble if you just let yourself give him and you a chance."

"Don't be ridiculous," she savagely says, as if the idea is so hilarious and inconceivable that Gajeel is crazy to even suggest it. It would be nice, yes she will admit that, if she just allowed herself to give him, give _her_, this chance—this chance of letting Gray and Juvia happen. But she's not cruel enough and it's something that's never, ever going to happen. "Why would I do something as awful as that to him?"

Gajeel looks at her as if he wants to say: No, it's not true, don't be like that.

But it is true and they both know it.

Gray Surge is the nicest, sweetest boy there is and he can do so much better than hang on to someone as broken and as messed-up as her.

* * *

She gets herself cleaned up and she and Gajeel then go to the bar where they always hang out every Friday. After getting a few drinks and some food, Gajeel takes her to some shops where he helps her pick out the perfect sweater for Gray. She had originally planned on buying him a box of cookies or something, but Gajeel told her that it would probably be better if she bought Gray something he could wear. She ends up buying him a scarf though, because all the sweaters had these ugly shades of blue that wouldn't have complemented his eyes and they're all in these ugly, dorky patterns that she just knows he'll look stupid in.

Gajeel makes fun of her for being so meticulous about which shade of blue is the perfect one and she just responds by slapping him from the back of his head.

(Secretly, she buys the scarf instead of the sweater because she wants to see him wear it and she knows that if she buys the sweater, he'll just pile up even more jackets and shirts on top of it.

At least if she gets him the scarf, then she'll know for sure that he'll wrap it around his neck and she'll get to see it on him.

Shut up. If she's going to end up spending cash on this shit, then she might as well make sure that it's being used.)

* * *

She decides to give it to him in his apartment instead of the guild because she doesn't want anyone else seeing and getting the wrong ideas. She's feeling kind of cold actually, which is weird, because the snow and the freezing temperatures have never really bothered her before. She suddenly starts thinking about how she should've worn pants instead of a skirt over tights or a thicker sweater or something.

The doorman lets her in and she climbs the three flights of stairs to his apartment room. She tentatively knocks on the door, feeling a spasm of anxiety. She doesn't know why she feels so nervous because she really doesn't have any reason to be. She's just here to apologize and to try to not be as big of a bitch as she usually is. It's no big deal.

The door finally, _finally_, opens and Gray's eyes go all wide and bubble-eyed, almost as if he thinks he's seeing a ghost instead of her. "Juvia-chan?"

She suddenly starts feeling a stab of panic. She has no idea what to say and it all seemed so much easier in her head. She opens her mouth and tries to think of a way to tell him that she's sorry and that she knows how he's feeling and that she really just wants to make it better and cheer him up or whatever without sounding like a complete dork. But nothing comes and she feels even more stupid.

"What happened to your hands? Who did this to you?" Gray says, as he angrily stares at the bandages in her hands. He looks ready to kill and she squirms in her place because him being so nice and concerned for her well-being isn't making her any less nervous at all. His overprotectiveness is actually kind of sweet, really.

So she ignores his question and shoves the goddamn scarf in his hands instead and gruffly says, "Here."

"W-What is this?" Gray asks her, looking confused. His cheeks are tinted pink, like it always is and she kind of wants to slap him, because he shouldn't be looking at her like _that_, especially when she doesn't deserve it.

"It's for um...well, Juvia just wanted to—'' Oh god, no. _No_. She's talking in third person again. She's gotten rid of that habit a long time ago and it only ever happens when she's nervous. Why is she even nervous? It's not as if she's talking to anyone important.

"Juvia just wanted to apologize for...for...well, she didn't know and...honestly, she's just sorry about t-today being the anniversary of your mother's death..." The words are clumsily tumbling out of her mouth and she hates herself because she's never sounded so unsure of anything in her life.

"You don't even have to apologize, Juvia-chan! You didn't know about it! I wasn't even mad!" Gray cheerily tells her although she can hear the twinge of sadness in his voice. She starts twiddling her thumbs and tries to avoid his gaze. His eyes are actually really cold, which is strange, because he's got such a warm personality. She thinks it's because of the color, the way his eyes are so dark and inky.

Oh god, she needs to pull herself together.

"Well, Juvia _wants_ to apologize so...so...don't tell her what to do!" she retorts, her cheeks reddening when she realizes that she's still speaking in third-person.

"S-Sorry Juvia-chan!" Gray hastily says.

"Don't apologize you idiot!" she hisses at him, annoyed that he's being so goddamn nice.

He stares at her, bewildered and Juvia squares her shoulders and tries to regain her composure. She glares at him and snaps, "Well? Do you like it or not?"

"I love it! You really shouldn't have gone to the trouble, Juvia-chan..." Gray babbles.

"If you like it so much then why aren't you trying it on?" she demands cutting him off.

He brightens and quickly unfolds the scarf. "Of course, of course. Did you make this yourself?"

"Yes," Juvia stiffly says, crossing her fingers behind her back.

He pauses, a stricken look on his face. "Is that why you have bandages in your hands? Juvia-chan! You really shouldn't have gone through—''

"Just put the goddamned scarf on, Gray!" Juvia irately says.

Gray hurriedly fumbles to put the scarf on but his arms are so stiff from all the clothes he's wearing that he's having a lot of trouble doing so. Juvia rolls her eyes in impatience and grabs the scarf before he can protest. His face turns puce and he starts stuttering when her fingers accidentally brush against his skin as she ties the scarf around his neck.

She leans back to examine her handiwork and in spite of herself, she smiles. The scarf really does make his eyes pop and there's something in the way his hair falls over his forehead and the way his bottom lip is jutting out and the way his nose is all red and twitching from the cold that makes him look kind of cute.

Kind of.

She gives an uncomfortable cough when she realizes that she's staring at him and Gray is staring back at her with this confused, interested expression on his face. She takes a step back and mumbles, "Well, that's all really. I should get going now..."

She's kind of upset because she didn't give him a proper apology, but she's sort of hoping that he got what she was trying to say. In fact, she's sure that he did. Gray's one of the few people who sort of gets her, even when she doesn't say anything, scary as it is.

"Wait! Don't you...don't you want to step inside for a cup of tea?" he says, a look of desperation in his face. It's actually kind of cute, how he doesn't want her to leave.

And actually, she does feel a little cold. She's been trembling really bad for awhile now and her lips are chapped and her face feels so dry. Her fingers are kind of numb and a cup of hot tea sounds really, _really_ good right now. But she doesn't want him to think that she actually, likes spending time with him or whatever. She's about to tell him no and brush him off again but then he looks at her with this look that makes her feel all warm and tingly on the insides and instead, she finds herself saying, "Okay."

His face breaks out into happiness, almost as if he can die from it and she tries to keep her disaffected expression. She's not exactly sure why she said yes—it isn't even because she feels sorry for him because it's his mother's death anniversary.

It's something else.

"Well? Aren't you going to lead me inside?" she snaps and as he steps aside and gives her room to pass, she realizes that all she really wants is a bit of warmth in the cold.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Wow, I haven't written in fanfiction for a really, really long time. College has been absolutely _murder_. I hadn't been planning on wasting precious study time (lol)by writing this fic, but after seeing the recent chapters, I just couldn't resist. It's amazing how much development Gruvia is getting. Maybe if inspiration gets to me, I'll write a Gruvia-Silver fic.

Anyways, I absolutely love Edolas Gray and Edolas Juvia. I'm a little disappointed that there's only a few entries for them in fanfiction. I'm definitely encouraging Gruvia writers to add more! :)) This is sort of my take on the 413 Days special. I also kind of figured that the Edolas Juvia would be horrible at cooking and sewing. She's still pretty badass though.

Anyways, thanks to those who reviewed my other fics! :))

Please tell me what you think if you have the time. I hope you had a good read :))


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